


Autumn's End

by SeraphJewel



Series: Opportunities [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: 1888, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autumn of Terror, M/M, Post-Jack the Ripper DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25933987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphJewel/pseuds/SeraphJewel
Summary: The Autumn of Terror has ended but its mark is still on the city, as well as on Master Assassin Jacob Frye. Maxwell Roth has not seen or spoken with the Assassin in years, yet he finds himself drawn back to the man. This is taking the events of Seizing Opportunity into account, so be sure to read that first to understand the context.
Relationships: Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth
Series: Opportunities [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882159
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	1. Found

The streets of Whitechapel still carried an uneasy air; Jack the Ripper's shadow was still looming, threatening them despite there being no recent signs. It would doubtless take months, if not years, before the citizens would believe he was truly gone.

Maxwell Roth knew as much about the Autumn of Terror as anyone else in the city. He read the letters, heard the details of the brutal murders. He partook in his own share of brutality, but that was chaos, not fear. People could still go about their business and enjoy themselves with his methods. Under Jack's rule, Whitechapel was not safe for anyone to wander alone.

Of course Maxwell still did, as he had very little to lose anymore. Still, it was nice to walk the streets without feeling that tension from others.

As Maxwell walked by a pub, he heard a soft groan. Something about the noise made him stop. It came from down the alley. It had to be a drunk patron of the establishment, yet Maxwell still moved closer to the noise. He froze when the figure came into view. The way the man's head was positioned made his features easy to see, and Maxwell knew him. Of course Maxwell had known that face when it was young and whole, but there was no mistaking it.

“Jacob.” The Assassin's face twitched and he cracked open his one good eye.

“Max,” he croaked.

The nickname seized at Maxwell's heart. The two of them hadn't spoken to each other in years. Not since he agreed to give Jacob space. Of course, that didn't stop Maxwell from thinking of Jacob nearly every day or fighting against the urge to check in on the Assassin. The closest he ever came was listening in on conversations between the Rooks. That nickname erased all the distance and years and Maxwell felt his legs collapse under him. Jacob had aged gracefully, Maxwell couldn't help noticing, even as he stared at the bandage covering one of the younger man's eyes.

“Who did this to you?” Maxwell demanded. _Who do I have to kill?_ Jacob's face pinched in pain and he tried pushing himself up to his feet. Either due to injury or inebriation, he couldn't manage it, and he slumped back to the ground.

“Nevermind.” Maxwell took one of Jacob's arms and draped it across his shoulders. “Here, lean on me.” Jacob did as he was told and together the two of them got Jacob back on his feet. “I'll take you home,” Maxwell offered. “Where--”

“No.” Jacob flinched as if trying to avoid a blow. “Not there.”

“All right,” Maxwell agreed, now watching the Assassin in concern. “I could take you to my lodgings.” He waited, expecting Jacob to protest, but the younger man was silent. Maxwell sniffed the air and caught a dense odor of alcohol. So Jacob was probably too drunk to care what was happening to him. That only made Maxwell worry more.

Maxwell helped Jacob into a carriage and drove off to where he was currently staying. It was nothing compared with the Alhambra-- a small theater that had fallen in disrepair-- but it was enough and would at least be a quiet place where Jacob could sleep off the drink.

Just as in the Alhambra, Maxwell used a section of the theater for his own private quarters. It was nothing like the opulence he had in those bygone days, but he had what he needed: a sitting room where he could read or listen to the crackling fire, a little office where he could do his work, a bedroom where he could sleep.

He helped the Assassin get as comfortable as he could be on the couch. Looking at him from that position pained Maxwell, as the image reminded him of another night when Jacob stayed over. He'd been drunk then, too, but it was due to celebrating. Maxwell wanted to ask Jacob so many questions but he could see the man was in no condition to talk.

“Get some rest,” he suggested.

“Are you real?” Jacob asked suddenly. He was watching Maxwell warily, holding himself tight and stiff.

“Why would you ask that?”

“I'm not used to good dreams.”

Maxwell didn't know what to make of that. _Drunk,_ he reminded himself. “I'll see you in the morning, Jacob.” He left the room feeling very unsettled.

Maxwell tried to go through his nightly ritual but he couldn't make himself settle down. He couldn't stop thinking of Jacob. He knew the man as an energetic jokester, wild and eager to take on the world. That seemed gone now, the light in him snuffed out. Maxwell would bet everything he owned that whoever did it was the same one who injured Jacob's eye. He saw red and vowed that the one responsible would suffer.

He was still awake hours later when he heard screaming from the other room. He rushed in to find Jacob thrashing on the couch. _I'm not used to good dreams._ That was what he'd said.

“Jacob!” Maxwell hurried forward to shake him awake. “Jacob, wake up!” It took a bit more shaking and shouting before Jacob finally woke, his eye wide and frantic. A fine sheen of sweat was on his face and he was shaking.

“Fuck,” Jacob swore. “I didn't drink enough.”

“What?”

Maxwell's voice caught Jacob's attention. He focused on the man, looking surprised to see him. “Max? You're really here?”

“I am.” Maxwell was disturbed; he'd never seen Jacob like this before. “I found you near a pub and took you back to my lodgings. You didn't want to go home.”

“That's where he found me,” Jacob muttered.

“The one who hurt you,” Maxwell clarified. “Who was it?”

Jacob didn't answer. He was still staring at Maxwell, working through the alcohol in his system to judge the older man's presence. Jacob lifted a hand and touched the scar on Maxwell's face. It was probably wrong and selfish, but Maxwell permitted it. It was such bittersweet pleasure to be touched by Jacob again. It brought him back to another time and place, to the very first time Jacob kissed him.

He remembered well how Jacob looked at him that night. Like he didn't care about the signs of age on Maxwell's face or the gray starting to show in his hair. Like he saw something he wanted even if he didn't fully understand the feeling.

Maxwell's thoughts were brought back to the present as Jacob's hand glided along Maxwell's throat to the scar he left behind years ago. “You're still handsome,” Jacob noted.

“And you're still drunk, it seems,” Maxwell retorted. It was good to remind himself of that and not take any of what Jacob did or said right now too seriously. “Let's talk again when you're sober.” He gently pushed Jacob's hand away and rose to give him some space.

Jacob suddenly sat up and grabbed Maxwell by the arm. “Don't leave me here with him!”

“Who are you taking about?”

“The Ripper.” Jacob's face was wild in fear and panic. “I didn't drink enough. He'll find me. Please, Max.”

What could he do? Maxwell settled where Jacob could see him and stayed until the younger man fell asleep again. He considered moving, but Jacob had clung onto his arm and might notice if Maxwell moved away.

Besides, he would take any excuse to be close to Jacob, though he expected the younger man to regret all of this in the morning.

So Jack the Ripper was to blame for this. But the man was gone-- Maxwell couldn't take his revenge on a ghost. The only thing he could do was get rid of that ghost and keep it from haunting Jacob further. He studied Jacob as the man slept. Whatever happened to him, he had tried to be free of it by drinking a large quantity of alcohol. But as he said, it wasn't enough, and Maxwell caught the twist in Jacob's face as another nightmare began to shape.

“You're all right,” Maxwell soothed him. “You're safe now, Jacob.” Jacob's expression relaxed again. This happened a few more times before he exhausted himself enough to settle.

Maxwell felt Jacob's grip on his arm slacken. He could move away now with Jacob none the wiser; he knew that would be the right thing to do. But there was a part of him that wondered if all of this was some strange delusion. What if he left the room and Jacob disappeared?

He didn't fully know the cause of Jacob's nightmares, but Maxwell wasn't used to good dreams, either. And this was by far the best one he ever experienced. He rested his back against the couch and let his head lean back, closing his eyes so he could listen to Jacob breathe.


	2. Evie

Maxwell could feel something shifting under his head and heard a groan. He woke to a stiffness in his back and neck. Though what could he expect after falling asleep on the floor? He rolled his head to get his neck loose and glanced behind him. Apparently he fell asleep using Jacob's legs as a pillow.

The man was waking now, though he looked like he instantly regretted it when he opened his eyes. Jacob covered his face with his hand and groaned louder.

“If you're going to be sick, I'd prefer you do it in the bathroom,” Maxwell told him dryly. Jacob lifted his hand enough to squint at Maxwell with his good eye. His hangover was not helping Maxwell measure how Jacob felt about being here.

It took him a few more minutes but Jacob finally got himself off of the couch. He was moving a bit stiffly, but then again he slept on the couch. It was likely only marginally more comfortable than Maxwell's position on the floor. Jacob focused on Maxwell again and the older man met the gaze, waiting. How much of last night did Jacob remember?

“Where am I?” Jacob finally asked.

“A small theater in the Strand. I brought you here after finding you in an alley.”

“A theater.” Jacob let out a weak laugh. “Of course. You haven't changed much at all.” Maxwell said nothing to that. The biggest change in his life was working as a completely legitimate businessman, but Jacob didn't need to know that. Jacob's face grew more pale and he groaned again.

“Bathroom,” Maxwell insisted, pointing.

Jacob turned to go and almost immediately bumped into something. Of course; he only had one eye to work with. Maxwell took him by the shoulder and guided him the rest of the way. He closed the door to give Jacob some privacy.

He listened to the Assassin being sick, and then a few moments later the sound of water splashing. Maxwell knocked on the door. “Take a shower while you're in there,” he suggested. “You smell like a brewery.”

He got no response from Jacob. The man he knew would have laughed or said something joking in response. It was hard to guess why he got no such reaction this time. Maxwell sighed and headed into his room to change and find some clothes for Jacob. The Assassin would need something to wear to hold him over until he could return to his own lodgings. The two of them were about the same height, so it was no trouble for Jacob to be borrowing Maxwell's clothes.

When he returned to the bathroom door he could hear the shower running. Maxwell considered that a good sign. He knocked on the door again. “Jacob, I brought a change of clothes for you. I'll leave them at the door.”

Again no answer from Jacob. All Maxwell could do was wait for Jacob to finish washing and dressing, eventually emerging from the bathroom. Maxwell's clothes didn't quite fit him properly. Jacob's shoulders were a bit too broad, making it impossible for him to button up his shirt. Which gave Maxwell a completely unobstructed view of Jacob's chest.

He stared shamelessly. The man was still built, and Maxwell could almost see Jacob's falcon tattoo in its entirety. There were a few more scars on his body since the last time Maxwell saw him. Something was missing, though, and it took a moment for Maxwell to pin it down.

“Didn't you used to wear a necklace with a shilling pendant?”

“Not anymore.” Jacob buttoned up the coat to hide his skin. If he noticed Maxwell staring, he didn't comment on it.

The Assassin looked much better now that he was cleaned and dressed. Maxwell noticed that the bandage around his eye had been reapplied rather clumsily. Thoughtlessly he reached out to try correcting it but pulled his hand back before he could complete the action.

“Evie usually helps me,” Jacob told him.

“What?”

“The bandages. Evie's been helping me.”

Did that mean Jacob was leaving? Maxwell was reluctant to have the Assassin out of his life again so soon. And it didn't feel right to let Jacob just leave on his own.

“I could drive you to her so you can get them wrapped properly.” It could have just been his imagination, but it looked like Jacob was relieved at the offer. He accepted it with a nod.

Together they headed out of the theater. Maxwell hailed a carriage and Jacob gave the driver his sister's address. Maxwell was concerned that being in this confined space would be uncomfortable for Jacob. Their first intense moment was in a carriage, after all. But if anything Jacob seemed glad to have Maxwell there and even chose a seating arrangement so he could keep the man in his sight.

The carriage ride was quiet. Maxwell longed to ask for details about what happened to Jacob but it still didn't seem the right time. So the two remained silent, though it didn't feel awkward.

Jacob's sister was staying in a modest boarding house with several other tenants. She smiled on seeing her brother, the expression shifting into confusion when she noted his company.

“I'll be with you in a moment, Jacob. Mr. Roth, if I may speak with you.”

“Evie.” Jacob caught her eye and there was a moment of silent communication between the twins.

“Certainly, Miss Frye.” Maxwell was curious to hear what she had to say. She hadn't seemed surprised at all to see him alive. He followed her out in the hall where Jacob was less likely to overhear.

“How is it you've come to be in my brother's company today, Mr. Roth?” Not an unexpected question for her to ask. Maxwell explained finding Jacob in the alley and bringing him back to the theater. Evie's brow creased in worry hearing about her brother's drinking, but again didn't seem surprised. Was getting that drunk common for Jacob these days?

“He told me this had something to do with Jack the Ripper,” Maxwell concluded, “but he was drunk, so I'm not sure it was intentional.”

Evie dropped her head with a heavy sigh. “Truthfully, I don't know everything that happened myself. Jacob sent me a letter asking for my assistance but when I arrived, he was missing. He was captured by the Ripper. I finally found him and--” Her voice broke. Maxwell didn't know her well, but he could see the memory of that moment still tore at her. “You've seen his eye. It was much worse when I found him.”

“I hope you made the Ripper pay for what he did,” Maxwell growled darkly.

“He's dead,” Evie assured him. She was quiet for a moment, then added, “Jacob told me about what happened between the two of you. I'm glad it was you who found him.”

“So am I,” Maxwell agreed. “Though now that he's back in your care, perhaps I should take my leave.”

Evie pursed her lips, shaking her head. “I think you should let my brother decide that, Mr. Roth.” She turned to head back into her room, and after a moment of hesitation Maxwell followed.

Jacob looked up when they re-entered the room, his lips moving into a smile. Maxwell took that as a good sign and sat himself close by to watch Evie unwrap the bandages around her brother's head. Maxwell had to keep himself from letting out an audible gasp when the wound was revealed. He'd been in enough fights to recognize the scars of repeated beatings with something sharp. It didn't look like the eye itself was damaged but some of those scars got awfully close.

Evie dipped her cloth in warm water and gently cleaned the wound. Jacob flinched a little, his hands tightening on his knees. “Max?” he called out.

“I'm here, Jacob.”

“Sit where I can see you.” Maxwell was surprised but did as he was asked. Jacob's smile grew a little bit once his good eye focused on Maxwell. “That's better.”

Evie finished and carefully dried the wound. “Try opening your eye,” she encouraged Jacob. He did, though it looked like it took a great deal of effort. “How is it?”

“Better.” Jacob closed his good eye and moved his head from side to side to get a view of the room. “Still blurry.”

“I'll put the bandage back on but I think you should try exercising your eye a bit more.” Jacob smiled at that and leaned his head forward so his sister could wrap his eye again. This was the first time Maxwell got to see the twins interact for any length of time. The familial affection between them was touching.

Once the wrapping was secured Jacob got to his feet, turning expectantly toward Maxwell. “Shall we go, then?”

“Go?” Maxwell repeated.

“Back to the theater.”

Maxwell glanced over at Evie; certainly she would protest this. But she had her back turned to them, busy putting away the cloth and disposing of the used bandages. She _had_ said Maxwell should let Jacob decide whether the older man would stay or go, and this was Jacob making a decision.

“Yes,” Maxwell agreed at last. “Yes, we'll go back to the theater. It was nice to finally meet you, Miss Frye. Thank you for... everything.”

She smiled, the look she gave assuring him she knew exactly what he was saying. “You're welcome, Mr. Roth.”

“See you later, Evie,” Jacob waved before following Maxwell out the door.

So it didn't seem Jacob minded being around Maxwell. Perhaps all he wanted to do at the theater was gather his clothing. It was the only thing Maxwell allowed himself to think; anything else was asking for too much. Though Jacob was still using his old nickname for Maxwell while sober, and Maxwell had no idea what to make of that.

Once again the carriage ride was taken in silence. Maxwell led Jacob through the back entrance, expecting the Assassin to go straight to the bathroom and collect his clothes. Instead Jacob stopped and took in his surroundings.

“This place is so run-down,” he observed.

“They went out of business years ago,” Maxwell acknowledged. “The city was going to demolish the building but I bought it instead.”

Jacob nodded, taking his time in walking the stage. “But why is it run down? Why haven't you made any renovations?”

“I haven't really felt the desire to.” Jacob didn't answer, his attention now on the box seats above. There was no good transition into the subject, so Maxwell just went into it. “Your clothes are still in the bathroom whenever you're ready to leave.”

“You want me to leave?” Jacob frowned.

“No. I thought you would, though. Getting back to your home and all.”

Jacob's face tightened and he shook his head. “Can't I stay here a while?” _That's where he found me._ So that wasn't just drunk rambling. The Ripper had captured Jacob in his own home. Yes, it was perfectly understandable why he wouldn't want to go back there after that. But surely he had other places he could go, other friends who would welcome him.

“Why here?” Maxwell wondered.

Jacob smiled then, and the devilish look was so familiar it was a painful stab to Maxwell's heart. “Why not?”


	3. Moving In

Now that Jacob was to be staying in the theater, the first order of business was finding him a more comfortable place to sleep. Maxwell found them a cart used to transport large cargo around the city for this purpose. It felt like old times when the two of them took their places on the driver's seat. Jacob automatically moved to the driving position but Maxwell made him scoot over.

“When your sister told you to exercise your eye, I don't think she meant you should start by driving through town.” Jacob smiled and handed the reins over. Jacob did unwrap his eye once they started moving, trying to take in everything while Maxwell drove.

Every now and then Maxwell glanced over to look at the Assassin. Those scars didn't look much better in the sunlight. The man was still beautiful, though. Maxwell tried his best not to think about that too much and focus on the road ahead.

All the furniture Maxwell currently owned was taken from other theaters. They had been used as props and stage pieces and were no longer wanted. For Jacob, Maxwell decided to go the route he once did years ago and actually buy the furniture with his own money. He knew of a few places where they could go for a suitable mattress.

Jacob didn't seem particularly interested in the frame or sheets or anything of that nature. Maxwell went with something simple, which disappointed the salesman. But the man persisted, offering to send some movers to help bring in the mattress later that day.

“Oh, I don't think we'll need that,” Jacob frowned. “In fact, if you give us the mattress now, we can just put it in ourselves.”

The salesman was stunned, but Maxwell was already handing over the money. Jacob took one end and Maxwell the other, and together they walked the mattress right out the door to where the cart was waiting. It was such a difference from the adventures they used to go on, but in an odd way it was just as thrilling for Maxwell. Maybe he was just so starved for any time with Jacob that he would accept anything, no matter how trivial.

They brought the mattress through the back door and let it fall on the stage. There was no room to put it in just yet. “We didn't think that through, did we?” Maxwell commented.

Jacob laughed, the amusement lighting up his whole face. It was the first time since Maxwell found him in the alley that Jacob looked genuinely happy.

“God, how I've missed not thinking things through!” Jacob flopped down on the mattress and spread himself out. “Though you know, this isn't a half bad place to sleep. Bet you've done it before.”

Maxwell couldn't deny it. He crouched down next to Jacob. “So now that we have your sleeping arrangements sorted, what about clothes? You can't go on wearing mine.”

“Why not?”

“They don't fit you, Jacob. You have to go back to your lodgings.” Jacob's expression tightened immediately and he looked away. Maxwell knew he should insist, but instead he sighed and said, “Or I could go for you.”

“Yes!” Jacob immediately sat up. His hair was in disarray and Maxwell had to clutch his hands together very tightly to keep from touching it. “Meanwhile I can start on the renovations. How about this stage?” Jacob tapped his knuckles against the wood. “It could use some work.”

“If you insist.” 

At least Jacob seemed in higher spirits now. Maxwell was pleased to see the younger man smiling and joking again. He left the Assassin to whatever he was planning for the stage and got in another carriage. He would gather clothing while he was in Jacob's lodgings, but he could also use the time to look through the place and try piecing together what had happened.

When he stepped through the door, Maxwell was surprised to see the place so ordinary. He would admit he expected overturned furniture or broken glass. But of course all of that would have been cleaned up by Evie or the police ages ago. Maxwell took a slow tour of the rooms though he wasn't sure what he was hoping to find.

Eventually he made his way to the bedroom where he took an empty trunk and began to fill it with clothes. He had no way of knowing how long Jacob intended to stay with him so he took enough to last a fortnight before anything needed washing. He turned his attention to the bedside table and pulled open the drawer, thinking there might be some personal item there Jacob might want.

Something metal glinted in the light. Maxwell pulled it out and felt his heart stop. He knew these copper knuckles very well. He remembered exactly how much they cost to make, how long it took, and the nervous feeling in his stomach when he presented them to Jacob. Maxwell twisted the knuckles around so he could see the word he knew was etched there. _Love._ He hadn't been brave enough then to say it out loud.

And Jacob kept them for all these years.

Maxwell took in a shaky breath and slipped the weapons into his pocket. His emotions were in a turmoil and he did his best to shove them down. The trunk was a bit too heavy for him to carry now so he went out onto the street and asked anyone nearby if they would help. Three men stepped up to help and together they heaved the trunk into the carriage. Maxwell thanked them and headed back to the theater.

“Jacob!” he called, walking through the back door. “I need your help carrying your clothes inside.” There was no answer. Maxwell took a few more steps inside. “Jacob?” The stage was quiet. Jacob had dragged his mattress off to the side and had pried off a few of the boards from the stage but stopped, leaving a small gap.

But there was no sign of the Assassin anywhere.

“Jacob?” Maxwell tried again. Where could he have gone? Maxwell checked the audience seating and the lobby to no success. Next he checked his own quarters but still didn't see Jacob. He was starting to worry. “Jacob! Jacob, answer me!”

Could he have gone off? But to where? Back to his sister's, perhaps, or to a nearby pub. Maxwell would check those places after scouring every centimeter of this building. He continued to call Jacob's name as he went, growing more and more panicked each time he didn't hear an answer.

He tried the box seats next, and there at last he found Jacob. The man was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. Maxwell was so relieved he collapsed on front of the Assassin and touched his shoulders before he could stop himself. Jacob lifted his head and met Maxwell's gaze.

“I was worried about you,” Maxwell confessed. “What happened?”

“It felt safer up here,” Jacob explained. “I can see him coming.”

“The Ripper is dead,” Maxwell reminded him gently.

“I know that.” Jacob squeezed his eyes shut, dropping his head again. “I know he is, but... it's hard to remember sometimes.” Maybe now was a good time to ask what happened. Maxwell had the words forming on his tongue, but before he could vocalize them Jacob was speaking again. “He was right about me: I'm a coward.”

“No.” Maxwell slid his hand to Jacob's cheek and lifted the younger man's face. “You are a survivor, my dear.”

Jacob stared at him. “You called me 'my dear',” he realized.

“Slip of the tongue.” Maxwell let his hand drop. He blamed finding those copper knuckles. Jacob was still staring at him. Slowly a smile began to form on the Assassin's lips.

“I never minded when you called me that.”

Maxwell didn't know what to say to that. He could feel the air shifting between them. Or it could just be his imagination, a hope caused by the weapon now heavy in his pocket. He moved away, pushing himself back up to his feet.

“Let's go back downstairs. I need your help getting your clothes inside, and you left a hole in my stage.” He heard a chuckle from Jacob as the other man moved to follow him.

Together they hauled the trunk through the back door, setting it over the hole in the stage as a temporary measure. Jacob immediately opened it to grab a few items. Naturally he would be eager to get into his own clothes, but Maxwell didn't realize how eager until the Assassin started taking off his coat and shirt right there.

“What are you doing?”

Jacob paused, the ill-fitting shirt halfway off his shoulders. “Nothing,” he muttered, pulling the shirt back again. He took his clothes and walked off to find a more private place to change.

God, maybe Maxwell should go take a walk down to the pub. He could use the drink. After he stuck his head into some cold water, of course.


	4. Flying

Maxwell couldn't keep track of Jacob's moods. First the man was relaxed and laughing, then he was wary and frightened, and now he seemed closed off and somber. The Assassin returned in a fresh change of clothes, his sleeves rolled up. He grabbed one handle of his clothes trunk and dragged it off the hole he left behind earlier.

“What were you trying to do with that?” Maxwell asked him.

“Well, I wouldn't claim to be an expert, but it seems to me this stage floor is rotted.”

“So you decided to pry it up with your bare hands?” Maxwell would have loved to see that. “This theater does have tools, Jacob. Let me show you.”

Maxwell led the Assassin to the green room, where he had shoved all sorts of things that took up space. Tools were among them, but also a few instruments that had been left behind by the theater's previous tenants. Maxwell went for the tools but Jacob picked his way deeper into the room. He stopped in front of the grand piano and pressed down on one of the keys. Maxwell cringed; the instrument was out of tune from lack of use.

“Do you play?” he asked Jacob.

“Not really. Evie plays a bit.” He moved over to the cello next and plucked at its strings. It didn't sound much better than the piano. “What about you?”

“Jacob, I used to run a music hall. Of course I know how to play.”

“So play something, then.”

Maxwell shook his head. “All these instruments are out of tune. Besides, I thought you wanted to fix the stage.”

Jacob stared at the instruments for a moment longer before conceding with a sigh. “All right, fine. But you owe me a song.”

Maxwell couldn't resist smiling at that. How strange that they used to be so intimate with each other and yet he never played any music for Jacob. He made a mental note to get the instruments out of the green room and have them properly tuned. Meanwhile he and Jacob set to work prying off the boards that made up the stage floor.

Jacob's assessment was right: the wood was rotted, and the only reason it held up this long was because the stage was hardly ever used. A few more days of them walking across it would have caused one of their feet to go directly through the floor. Jacob seemed a bit more content now that he was working. This was an obvious way for him to keep himself busy and his mind away from memories of the Ripper, but if it was what Jacob needed, Maxwell would let him tear up the whole theater.

They broke for supper. Maxwell found a place where they could eat not too far from the theater. He thought it was going to be a quiet meal, but then Jacob spoke.

“What do you do these days, Max?”

“Oh. I work with the theater groups in London. Whatever role they need filling, I'm there. Stage manager, orchestra director, I've even taken my turn as an actor a few times.”

“It sounds perfect for you.”

“It is,” Maxwell agreed, smiling across the table at Jacob. “Recently I did a reading of 'A Christmas Carol'.”

“You're joking!” Jacob's eyes lit up. “I knew Dickens! My sister and I met him a few years before he died. He convinced us to join this society where we investigated claims of the supernatural. Evie was more involved in it than me. There was one time she told me that they were investigating dead letters, and she had the oddest dream about saving a girl from an unwanted marriage.”

“You never told me that story,” Maxwell noted. Which was a shame, as it was exactly the sort of thing he would've loved hearing. They finished their meal but neither felt in the mood to go back to the theater just yet, so they took a turn around the block instead. 

“I'd like to hear another story,” Maxwell mentioned. “Tell me one of your favorites.” Jacob thought about it for a moment. A grin spread across his lips when it came to him.

“There's one about Ezio I always liked. He was an Assassin during the Italian Renaissance. He was friends with Leonardo da Vinci, see, and one time Ezio had to cross over all these buildings in order to reach his target. So his allies set up these huge fires along the rooftops and he used da Vinci's flying machine.” Jacob's eyes grew dreamy as he described it. “Whenever Ezio flew over one of the fires, the hot air would lift him up and carry him farther on his journey. I wish I could've flown like that.” He let out a wistful sigh. “The closest we get is when we use the rope launcher.”

“I remember,” Maxwell assured him. Jacob came to a sudden halt, causing Maxwell to stop as well. Their eyes met. Maxwell felt an urge to reach out and touch Jacob's cheek. Instead, he lifted his hand to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat. “It's getting late. We should head back.”

Maxwell could still feel an echo of that moment hovering over them all the way back to the theater. They went back to work, taking out the ruined plywood and cleaning up any loose nails and wood dust. With the stage destroyed, the two of them found a different spot to place Jacob's mattress and clothing trunk. They bade each other a good night and got ready for bed.

Maxwell could have kicked himself for bringing up their flying adventure: he dreamed about it. Every beat was clear in his mind, from the hungry look in Jacob's eyes to how it felt to have his legs wrapped around the Assassin's body. He could almost hear the noises they made that night...

Wait. He _was_ hearing noises, but they weren't cries of pleasure-- they were screams of pain and fear. Jacob! Maxwell flew out of bed, running down the halls and to Jacob's side. It was just like the night he brought Jacob home, only worse now without the alcohol to dull his nightmares. He shook the man until Jacob was freed from it.

“Shit,” Jacob cursed.

“It was just a dream,” Maxwell told him.

“I know, but... fuck. I don't think I can get back to sleep.”

“What do you want to do instead?”

Jacob shut his eyes, running a hand down his face. When his hand dropped he opened his eyes again. “I want to fly.”

There was really only one place Maxwell could think to take him. It might have been a mistake, but it was fresh on his mind and the only building he knew that would be tall enough. Climbing Big Ben again was a very surreal experience for Maxwell. To his amazement, they could still keep pace with each other after twenty years. Maybe it took them longer and they were more out of breath, but they could make the journey.

Maxwell never stopped thinking of this as their place. When his brain was restless-- which was nearly every night-- Maxwell would climb his way up here and stare out over the city. His thoughts would inevitably turn to Jacob. He never encountered the Assassin during these trips, but Maxwell always had the sense they just missed each other.

The two of them sat on the ledge just like they used to. They were comfortably quiet as they enjoyed the night air. Jacob sat close enough that their shoulders could touch. Maxwell was glad to see Jacob looking relaxed and peaceful. He didn't try to disturb it with chatter.

They sat there until Big Ben warned them it was now one o'clock in the morning. That must have been enough for Jacob. He got to his feet and balanced on the ledge. Maxwell knew what would come next. The Assassin let his arms drop to his sides and he tipped forward. There was a fearless confidence to the way he held himself as he dropped, as if he didn't fully believe gravity could control him. He twisted his body at just the right time so he would land on his back in the hay.

The maneuver was still as graceful as it was when Maxwell saw it performed twenty years ago. Maxwell fell a little bit more in love with Jacob.

Maxwell followed, though he manage to resist the urge to take a bow when he popped out of the hay. Their eyes met again and Maxwell felt that same heat spark up.

“There it is,” Jacob said.

“What?”

“That look in your eyes. You always used to get it right before you kissed me. But lately it feels like you can't even stand to look at me.” Maxwell's mouth dropped. “Like earlier,” Jacob went on, “when I was changing. You've seen me naked, but back there--” His face tightened. “You must have someone else.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It's why you've been keeping your distance, isn't it?”

Maxwell shook his head, completely baffled. Jacob thought he had a lover? All this time he was driving himself mad holding back because he thought it was what Jacob wanted. He was only ever promised acceptance, after all. 

“No. There's no one.”

Jacob crossed the distance between them, grabbing Maxwell by the shirt. “Then what? Tell me what I need to do to get your attention.”

It was hard to tell which of them moved first. They wrapped around each other, kissing with hunger and fire, clinging on like their lives depended on it. Jacob's lips felt just as Maxwell remembered and molded so perfectly against his own. Jacob responded with as much eagerness and enthusiasm as ever. He invited Maxwell to taste him with parted lips, letting out a needy little moan.

God, how he missed this. He tried to move on and find other lovers, but nothing could erase Jacob from his heart. He hadn't even been able to kiss another man without Jacob's face popping up in his mind. Maxwell told the Assassin he would never be free because of his love, and it was true. Jacob was the only man he loved, the only one he could ever possibly love.

“Jacob, wait.” Maxwell pulled back. “We shouldn't do this.”

“Why not?”

“You've been through something, and--”

“I know that!” Jacob snapped. “I think about it all the time! When I'm alone, when it's too quiet, in my dreams... But with you, I'm free. Don't treat me like I'm broken, Max.”

“You're not broken,” Maxwell agreed. “I know that.”

Jacob leaned in until they were a breath apart. “Then kiss me.”


	5. Three Words

There was no point in trying to be slow. The moment their lips connected again a fire was ignited and they were gripping each other. The desperation was so intense their kisses grew clumsy at time, kissing the corners of their lips or bumping into noses and chins. But even when he missed the mark he thrilled in the contact, a new sweet shock of pleasure. Thoughtlessly Maxwell kissed the scars around Jacob's eye. Jacob gasped, his grip on Maxwell tightening, whimpering. He misunderstood and thought he did something wrong, but Jacob quickly grabbed his hair and moved his lips back.

“Please,” he whispered.

So these scars for Jacob were much like the one on Maxwell's face: something inflicted on him to make him feel like less of a person, a feeling that was turned around when they were loved on and admired. Maxwell kissed them again slower this time. He measured every line with his lips and tongue. He could feel Jacob growing weak with need in his arms.

They stumbled across the roof until Jacob's back hit the tower. Jacob gripped onto him still, demanding that their bodies be closer. From their very first encounter in the carriage he was always doing that. Like Maxwell was some irresistible magnet. It was much the same for Maxwell. He could kiss this man for hours and never have enough of him. He could listen to every gasp and moan from those lips and still crave more.

“Max,” Jacob breathed. “Maxwell...”

He forgot how sweet his name could sound. Especially when Jacob spoke it. The fact that Jacob didn't often use Maxwell's full name made the moments he did more meaningful. Maxwell swallowed and started kissing the line of Jacob's throat. The Assassin craned his neck at once, trembling at the attention. Jacob was so much more sensitive than Maxwell remembered. Of course he'd always been very eager and responsive, but this seemed more intense.

“Have you not had anyone to warm your bed, my dear?” Maxwell wondered.

“Once,” Jacob admitted. “We decided we wanted to concentrate on being Assassins.” Jacob swallowed and pulled back a little, looking a little wary. “She gave me a son.”

“Oh?” Maxwell would have noticed a ring. Unless that wasn't an Assassin custom. Still, he watched Jacob's expression. “Where is she now?”

“She took our son to Egypt to research more on the origins of the Assassins. We never married. Neither of us wanted to.”

“Do you love her?”

“Not like that.” Jacob's eyes dropped for a moment. When he lifted his gaze again he was blushing. “There's only one person I ever felt that way about.”

It was too much. Maxwell couldn't find the words, so he slid his hand to the back of Jacob's neck and kissed him again. They went slower this time to really explore the contours of each other's mouths. It didn't matter to him that Jacob found someone else for a moment. And while the concept of Jacob as a father was a strange one to grasp, in an odd way he was glad. Jacob deserved the chance to build a family.

Big Ben tolled again. They'd been kissing for an hour already. “We should get back,” Maxwell advised. “You need to try to sleep.”

“Right,” Jacob huffed with a roll of his eyes. “As if I could sleep _now_.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly. Maxwell chuckled, stroking his cheek.

“Try, my darling.”

“Hm.” Jacob kissed him and spoke against Maxwell's lips. “You won't be able to sleep either.”

“It's unlikely.”

“So don't.” Jacob wound both arms around Maxwell's neck. “Stay awake with me.”

Maxwell knew he should insist, but he found no real desire to. He did at least convince Jacob to come back to the theater, but once there they wrapped up around each other again. Maxwell started to sway them as they kissed, guiding them almost in a dance. They never danced together before. So many moments he lost because he'd been foolish, because he thought that burning down their world was the only option.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “Jacob, I'm so sorry for what I did then.”

“I forgive you,” Jacob answered just as softly. The words gripped at his heart. Jacob never promised him _that_. What sort of world was this for a man like Jacob Frye to exist?

The two of them swayed quietly for a few minutes. Without Big Ben to interrupt them it was harder to tell how much time passed.

“I have a confession,” Maxwell mentioned. “When I was in your lodgings, I found something in your bedside dresser.” He pulled out the copper knuckles so Jacob could see.

“I couldn't get rid of them,” Jacob admitted. “I was tempted, but I just couldn't. You were my first love, Max, and I couldn't let you go.” His thumb brushed across the scar on Maxwell's neck. “Obviously.”

“I have something else to confess.” He slid the knuckles onto his own fingers. They didn't quite fit right, as they were made for Jacob's hands, but they would serve their purpose. Maxwell cupped Jacob's face in both hands. “You were my first love, too.”

Jacob's mouth dropped, his eyes widening. Those words were much more meaningful coming from Maxwell. He told Jacob in the beginning that he had other lovers. To admit he hadn't loved any one of them, that Jacob was the _first_... Jacob trembled, overwhelmed.

“I love you, Jacob Frye.” He never put the words in that order before.

Jacob let out a shaky breath. “Look who's being the brave one now.” He leaned in so their foreheads would touch. “I love you, Maxwell Roth.”

He didn't want this moment to end. They exchanged a few more kisses, fingers intertwining, bodies pressed close. Even when Jacob finally agreed to try sleeping again they wouldn't let each other go. They stretched out on Jacob's mattress together with Jacob sprawling on Maxwell's body.

Maxwell watched the Assassin sleep for a few minutes before closing his eyes as well, soothed by their shared heartbeats.


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussions about physical and mental torture.

The good thing about working freelance was Maxwell wasn't expected anywhere. He could lay in bed as long as he liked. After last night, he had every intention of staying in bed for a long time. Jacob was still sprawled on him, his head resting on Maxwell's shoulder. Maxwell watched him sleep with a smile on his lips.

Another thing they never did: sleep together without sex being involved. There had been so much fire and passion between them. Maxwell wouldn't trade a moment of it, but he was beginning to see he missed out as well. This was a different kind of intimacy, but no less wonderful.

Jacob stirred, cracking his eyes open. He greeted Maxwell with a lazy smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Maxwell returned, bringing their faces together for a kiss. He felt Jacob's thumb brush his facial scar, and he smiled.

“What's on your agenda today?”

“Well, someone went and tore up my stage yesterday,” Maxwell answered, eyes twinkling. “So I need to go out and buy some wood to put in a new one.”

“Can I help?”

“Of course, darling.” They exchanged a few more kisses. It wasn't easy to let Jacob get up, but he relented so they could start their day. They took turns in the bathroom but this time Maxwell didn't look away when Jacob undressed.

Once again Maxwell took a larger cart so they could haul the wood needed for the new stage. They sat close, Jacob's hand lightly touching Maxwell's thigh. They were back in the theater soon enough, building the stage one board at a time.

“Tell me something no one knows about you, Max,” Jacob requested.

“My real name is Oberon,” Maxwell offered.

“Really? Like the fairy king?” Jacob grinned. “ 'I jest to Oberon and make him smile'.” God, just when Maxwell thought Jacob couldn't get more attractive, he pulled that quote out of the air. “Oberon,” Jacob repeated thoughtfully. “Obi... Ron. Ronny? No, that doesn't sound very good. Oberon, Oberon... I honestly can't think of a good nickname. I'll just have to keep calling you Max.”

“I like when you do,” Maxwell assured him. “Now tell me something about you.”

Jacob's smile faded and he focused on nailing in a board. He was quiet for a long time before he answered. “I raised Jack the Ripper.” Maxwell put down his tools and gave Jacob his full attention. Jacob took in a shaky breath before turning to face Maxwell and continuing. “Back when he was a boy, I knew him as Jack the Lad. He was locked away in Lambeth Asylum. I rescued him and took him under my wing. I taught him the ways of the Assassin. He was a smart kid, quick to learn. A bit reckless... like me. But I think that's why I liked him.”

Jacob's eyes grew distant as memories played out in his mind. “He and my son Emmett were practically brothers. It's going to break Emmett's heart when I tell him.” Jacob let out a regretful sigh. “I took Jack to India with me, to train with our brothers there. They have this practice of intimidating their opponents through fear. Jack... was very good.”

Maxwell was alert now. He could sense Jacob was getting into what happened while he was captive of the Ripper.

“Jack's mother was killed. He blamed me for not being able to save her. Something inside him... broke. He began to craft his own twisted version of the creed. I knew he was dangerous but I couldn't bring myself to hurt him, so I asked my initiates to watch him.” Jacob paused, swallowing hard. “He was cruel when he murdered them. Because of me. They were only there because of me, and he--” Jacob's voice caught and he broke into a sob.

Maxwell put his arms around Jacob. The man leaned into him, pressing his face into Maxwell's shoulder. He could feel Jacob shaking as he sobbed; he couldn't think of anything else to do but rub Jacob's back.

“Then,” Jacob resumed, his voice thick, “he came after me. He found me in my lodgings. Even then, I didn't want to kill him. I was still trying to save him. But he bested me. He--” Jacob paused to take in a shuddering breath. “He knocked me out. When I came to, I found myself in a cell. I recognized it as the basement of the asylum. Then... he started beating me. I tried to fight back at first, but he remembered his training. He used those tools of fear against me.”

Maxwell couldn't think of anything to say, but he knew Jacob didn't want that. He just needed someone to listen as he finally talked through his trauma.

“I never knew when he would come in. Sometimes he left me for hours at a time, and sometimes he would come back every ten minutes. I could never relax; I was always waiting for him to show up and the torture to start again. He showed me pictures of what he did to my initiates. He told me it was my fault, that I killed them because I was too weak and cowardly. I believed him.”

A tear slid down Jacob's cheek. Maxwell let it fall without interruption.

“He made sure I was fed and watered. Jack was very careful where he cut me... He wanted me to stay alive so I could keep suffering. At least until Evie found me. He told me he would kill me in front of her, make her watch before he gutted her.” He closed his eyes, shuddering. “When she did finally found me, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me. I thought it would turn into a nightmare. And even though she rescued me and took me out of that place, sometimes when I close my eyes I'm still there. I'm still there, and so fucking scared.”

He dissolved into tears again. Maxwell felt helpless. He knew there was nothing he could really do. This was something that could only heal with time.

“The night you found me in the alley was the first time I felt safe in ages,” Jacob admitted quietly. “How is it you came into my life again just when I needed you?”

“Funny,” Maxwell mused, “but I asked myself a similar question when I met you twenty years ago. And not a day has gone by since that I've stopped needing you.”

“Even though I'm no longer the bravest man in London?”

“Jacob.” Maxwell cupped the Assassin's face in his hands. “Nothing can make me see you as anything less. You have lived through something painful and horrifying; no one could have walked away from it unscathed. But you survived it, and no matter what he tried to do to you, you're still my Jacob. You are braver now than ever.”

Jacob stared at him, his face flushed and his eyes wide. He swallowed and leaned into Maxwell's touch. “Thank you,” he murmured, kissing Maxwell softly. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Maxwell returned. They kissed for a few moments, keeping the contact slow and soft. Maxwell reluctantly pulled back for some air. “Let's take a walk,” he suggested.

Jacob agreed and they headed out. Maxwell slid a hand around Jacob to rest on the small of his back. He didn't care what anyone thought of this close, personal contact. Jacob's hand was soon on his back as well, and the two of them smiled at each other.

Maxwell had no particular destination in mind as they walked, but then his eyes settled on a store across the street. He slid his hand away from Jacob's back and clasped the man's hand instead as he guided Jacob to the store.

“What is it?” Jacob asked him.

“I owe you a song, remember? And when have you ever known me to pass up an opportunity?”

A grand piano was sitting on display right next to the store's window, likely an effort from the owner to lure in customers. It really was a beautiful instrument, its wooden surface gleaming with fresh polish. Maxwell sat down on the bench and played a C chord. It rang out strong and clear. His fingers moved forward into a song.

Jacob listened for a moment. “Mozart?” he guessed.

“Yes. It's a favorite.” He finished the measure with a flourish.

“Do you know any songs that come with lyrics?”

“I do,” Maxwell nodded, intrigued. “Why do you ask?”

“Because...” Jacob leaned in closer, rubbing between Maxwell's shoulders. “If you get the piano back home fixed, I'll sing for you.”

The words had Maxwell's heart racing and his body getting hot in arousal. The store owner must have sensed a sale about to happen and appeared to offer his services.

“Jacob,” Maxwell ventured as they made their way back to the theater, “did you mean to call this place 'home'?”

“Of course I did. I felt that way about the Alhambra, too. But this theater feels _more_ like home, because we're making it ours.”

“Ours,” Maxwell echoed, gazing around the space. “I like that.”


	7. Ours

Since it was just the two of them working on the stage, reconstructing it took up the rest of the day. They dragged the piano out of the green room so it could be repaired and tuned. The rest of the stuff inside the green room would need to be sorted, but that would be a project for another day. After they finished they showered and ate a quick meal before deciding to turn in. Their late night and the day of hard work left them both feeling exhausted.

Even still, Maxwell found some difficulty settling. He was thinking of Jacob and wondering if talking about his experience would help or hurt in letting the Assassin get some peaceful sleep. He tried to listen for the Assassin's noises but he was too tired, and soon fell asleep.

He didn't know how much time passed when he heard his name being called. He opened his eyes and saw Jacob there wearing a panicked expression. The Assassin immediately relaxed seeing Maxwell awake.

“I needed to make sure.”

“What's wrong?” Maxwell asked, voice croaking in fatigue.

“I had a nightmare. I thought you were dead.”

Oh. This was a possibility he hadn't seen coming, and he swallowed hard. He was overwhelmed at the implication that his death was what Jacob feared most now. Maxwell didn't hesitate; he pulled the sheets back.

“Get in.” Jacob did as he was told and immediately the two wrapped their arms around each other. Maxwell pressed a kiss to Jacob's cheek, nuzzling him affectionately. “See, my dear? I am very much alive.”

Jacob answered with a squeeze of his hand. Maxwell felt the Assassin relax and he thought Jacob already went back to sleep again. But then he spoke: “Do we really need two beds, Max?”

“You wanted an open space,” Maxwell reminded him.

“Then come sleep in my bed. I don't care.”

While Maxwell was sure that was true as far as Jacob believed it, he worried that the smaller space of this room would eventually make the man uncomfortable. So it was with a great effort that Maxwell untangled them and followed Jacob back to his bed. They would try sleeping in Maxwell's room later, but Jacob had only recently opened up about his experience with the Ripper. It seemed too soon to push for such a change.

Besides, Maxwell didn't care where they slept, either, as long as Jacob was in his arms. Though it did make getting out of bed in the morning extremely difficult.

“I need to check in with the theater companies,” Maxwell told Jacob once they were finally out of bed.

“All right. I was thinking... I was thinking I should see how my initiates are doing.” Jacob ducked his head a little. “I haven't seen them... in a while. I'm sure Evie's told them I'm all right, but they're probably still worried.”

Maxwell was pleasantly surprised. Jacob wanting to reconnect with his initiates had to be a good sign, didn't it? “You should go,” he encouraged. “Take as much time as you like. I'll see you back here tonight.”

“I love you,” Jacob announced, kissing him.

“I love you,” Maxwell replied. He would never get tired of saying that.

They spent so much time together the past few days it felt a little strange to separate. He focused his attention on his work. One of the theaters immediately requested his assistance on the catwalk. Another reported their box office earnings and he gave some advice on how they could improve before the next performance. While visiting the music halls he asked if any of them could use some instruments, with the warning that they would need tuning. The grand piano he would keep for himself but the other instruments he would gladly give away if they were wanted.

All of that took up the morning and part of the afternoon. His thoughts inevitably drifted to Jacob. The Assassin said he saw the theater as his home, but truthfully he had very few personal belongings there. Their sleeping arrangements aside, Maxwell wanted Jacob to feel like he had his own space. An office, maybe, or his own little reading area.

Maxwell got a cart and headed back to Jacob's quarters. It looked more or less the same as when he came to get Jacob's clothing. This time he would pick out pieces of furniture and books. He had to recruit some help for the heavier items, but soon he had the cart full. For now all of it would go into the lobby; Jacob could pick out his space when he came home.

It was getting into evening when a carriage finally pulled up and dropped Jacob off at the front of the theater. The man was smiling when he stepped out, a look that brightened when his eyes lit on Maxwell. Jacob took his hand and the moment they were behind closed doors, he turned them and pushed Maxwell against the wall, kissing him hungrily.

“I missed you,” he murmured. Maxwell hummed in agreement, though he was stunned by the force of Jacob's greeting. The way the Assassin clung onto him, it was like they'd been separated for more than just a few hours. But Maxwell was clinging back just as tightly.

“Did your meeting with the initiates go well?” Maxwell asked, a bit breathlessly as he was speaking between kisses.

“Very well.” Jacob's lips moved to his favorite spot on Maxwell's scarred cheek. “They were happy to see me again. And they're all ready to get back to work.”

“Good.” Maxwell dipped his head down to brush his lips along the line of Jacob's throat. He got a groan in response that heated him. “I had an idea today,” he mentioned. “I thought you might like your own space here. Once you are ready to get back to your duties as an Assassin, you'll need an office.” Jacob pulled back so he could look Maxwell in the eye. “I already brought some of your furniture and books here,” Maxwell told him.

“You--” Jacob was stunned for a moment, but then he grinned. “An office, eh?”

“This is your home too, my dear. You shouldn't have to sleep on a mattress and have none of your own things.”

“I like that,” Jacob agreed. His voice dipped lower and he pressed in closer. “But I also like _our_ things. Our room, our bed. When can we have that?”

The heat inside him was spreading. He was aware of every line and angle of Jacob's body. When they took turns showering he got a shameless eyeful of that body as Jacob stripped off his clothes. Maxwell knew just how many layer separated him from that body now.

“Oberon,” Jacob purred, the name making Maxwell's heart quicken. “Please. I want you to fuck me.”

Maxwell closed his eyes. He felt the eager pace of his own heart answering Jacob's, their breaths caressing each other's lips. The request made his fingers twitch as his body ignited with desire. He wanted to obey; he wanted to give Jacob everything he asked for.

“No.” He felt Jacob stiffen and jerk back. Maxwell opened his eyes again. “I have fucked other men, Jacob. But there's something I've never done before: I've never made love.”

Jacob blinked. “What's the difference?”

Maxwell smiled, taking his Assassin by the hand. “Come with me to our room and I'll show you.”


	8. Commitment

Twenty years ago he hadn't been a young man, and he was certainly not now, but Jacob had a way of making Maxwell feel that way. Jacob never seemed to care about the signs of age in Maxwell's face or body. He looked at Maxwell the same way now as he did back then: as desirable, arousing. And he reacted the same way, too, like every touch was exciting to him. Yet as eager as they were for each other, they took the night slowly. They took the time to remember each other's bodies-- finding all the old sensitive spots and discovering new ones, lips and fingers caressing over scars.

They finished the night tangled together, hands clasped. Jacob fell asleep with his head tucked in the crook of Maxwell's neck. Maxwell stayed awake to watch his Assassin sleep, pleased to see Jacob was actually getting some rest.

He could have had this for the last twenty years. If only he hadn't ruined it all. What would have changed? Would he have been able to help Jacob with Jack? Would it be him to rescue Jacob from the asylum instead of Evie? There was no way to know.

They spent the next day clearing out a space for Jacob to use as his office. They didn't need that second mattress so Maxwell gave it away to one of the theater companies, who realized they could use it in one of their upcoming performances. Jacob met with his initiates again to discuss how they could move on from the Ripper while Maxwell did his own business. They met for dinner and wore each other out again, still so hungry for each other. They had twenty years to make up for, after all.

It was almost like a dream: Maxwell back with the man he loved, the two of them living together and building a home. There were moments when he wondered if he hadn't succumbed to madness and this was his mind giving him a beautiful delusion. There were other times when Jacob would reach for him, or lean a little closer, like he was making sure this was reality, too.

Without really talking about it, Jacob started wearing the LOVE knuckles. He no longer woke up screaming but sometimes he clung onto Maxwell a little tighter while he slept, or he would struggle with going to sleep. Whenever that happened Maxwell would take them up to Big Ben where they would talk and watch the stars until the sun rose.

Maxwell decided it was time they had some company over, and sent an invitation to Evie for her to join them for dinner. He set up the table on the stage with food and wine and went to theater companies hoping to get an appropriate backdrop.

“You don't have to impress her, you know,” Jacob mentioned.

“Nonsense, my dear. Meeting the family is an important part of courtship. I want to do it right.” That got a little smile to form on Jacob's lips. Obviously they went about it in a very unconventional way, but they were solidly committed to each other.

Evie arrived by way of carriage. Maxwell greeted her with a white carnation, which impressed her. He learned from Jacob that Evie was interested in the language of flowers and had educated himself on the subject until he found one that could express what he wanted to say to Evie.

They took her around the theater, showing what they did with the place so far and discussing their future plans. She listened with interest, though her eyes were more closely watching her brother. Soon they made their way to the stage where they began the meal. The conversation continued to be light with Maxwell talking of future theatrical productions he would participate in, and Jacob going over his plans on how to get the Rooks back under Assassin control. Evie mostly listened, though she offered news on her husband when Jacob prompted her.

“And speaking of Jayadeep, I think I'll be returning home to him in a few days. You seem to be doing much better, Jacob, and his latest letters read like he really misses me.”

“Can't keep Greenie waiting,” Jacob agreed teasingly.

“Are you _ever_ going to call him by his name?” Evie complained.

“Very unlikely.”

“How would you like it if I called Maxwell...” She trailed off, clearly struggling to think of some ridiculous nickname. “If I called him... Rothy?”

“ 'Rothy'?” Maxwell echoed, and he and Jacob both laughed. Evie looked annoyed, but Maxwell saw her lip twitch up in a smile.

Later Maxwell walked her out while Jacob cleaned up their meal. Maxwell waved for a carriage. “It's been a long time since I've seen Jacob so happy,” Evie mused. She rethought her words, and shook her head. “Of course he's been happy, I just mean... he's so full of _joy_.”

Maxwell was glad to hear that. No one deserved it more than Jacob.

“The last time I saw him this way,” Evie went on, “was twenty years ago. When he was with you.” Maxwell anticipated that, but it didn't make the words less overwhelming. “I remember the day Jacob told me he loved you. I was a bit concerned, you being who you were, but I wanted to support him. He's my younger brother; I wanted him to be happy.” She took in a slow breath. “Later that same day, you destroyed him.”

Maxwell stared at her in horror. Oh, god. The day he chose to blow up that Starrick factory was the same one Jacob confessed his love to his sister? He was sickened at himself. How had Jacob ever forgiven him for that?

“I recognize those copper knuckles,” Evie continued. “He was wearing them that day when he told me. Him wearing them again tells me he's finally healed from the wound you gave him.”

Again, the symbolism hadn't been lost on Maxwell, but hearing it from Evie was something else. “Miss Frye, not a day has gone by that I haven't regretted that day. I wish I could have seen back then that there was another way, that I didn't have to go to such an extreme. Finding Jacob again was a gift I didn't deserve.”

“You're right,” she agreed grimly. “You didn't. But,” she added a bit gentler, “you were the only one who could have brought Jacob out of his nightmares. And seeing the two of you together tonight... You _fit_. Despite everything you did, despite all he went through. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I forgive you for hurting him back then. And I give you my blessing.”

Maxwell didn't know how to respond. First Jacob forgave him and now Evie. More than that, she was accepting of their relationship even after all that happened. “Thank you,” Maxwell managed.

“Take care of him, Maxwell.” She squeezed his hand, then climbed into the carriage and drove off. _I will._ Maxwell watched her disappear around the corner before turning back into the theater. Jacob had finished cleaning up by this point. The Assassin moved to greet him with a kiss.

“I think that went well, don't you?”

“Yes,” Maxwell agreed, head still spinning from his conversation with Evie. “Very well.”

When the day came for Evie to return to India, Maxwell and Jacob helped load her luggage onto the ship. Jacob was now fully back working with his initiates. He couldn't accept his former Rooks back after all they did under Jack's command, so instead he began to build the gang back up again with new members. Maxwell helped but understood this was something Jacob needed to do for himself.

Life was settling into something like a routine for them: Jacob would go out with his initiates, recruiting Rooks or hunting down former members who worked with Jack; Maxwell spent his time with theater companies doing whatever sort of tasks they needed. They would talk about their respective days, and retire to bed where after some vigorous sex they would fall asleep in each other's arms.

After about a week of this, Maxwell decided he wanted to plan a very special evening for the two of them. He went out to purchase all the necessary items and set everything up while Jacob was busy with the Assassins. He waited for Jacob on the stage. When the Assassin spotted him, his eyes went wide.

“What's this?”

“A piece of our old home.” Maxwell had reconstructed the roof of the Alhambra as best as he could. “I wanted to bring it into our new home.”

“It's amazing,” Jacob marveled. He leaned in to kiss Maxwell, and though he would have dearly loved to let the embrace go on, there was more to this. Maxwell reluctantly broke the contact.

“Jacob, I have never loved anyone before I met you, and I could never love anyone after. I could never make up for the twenty years I lost because of what I did, but I want to spend what remains of my life by your side.” Jacob stared at him with wide eyes, mouth open. Maxwell held out his hand where a ring was gleaming in the palm. It was made of silver with one emerald and one ruby embedded in the metal.

“Jacob Frye, will you spend your life with me?”

“I...” Jacob's eyes flicked to the ring, then to Maxwell's face. “I don't understand.”

“Would it help if I got on one knee?”

Jacob took in a shaky breath. “It would never be accepted.”

“Jacob,” Maxwell sighed gently, “when have I ever cared about what is accepted? This is between the two of us.”

That got Jacob to smile. He slid off the knuckles on his left hand, holding out the hand with fingers splayed. “Yes, Oberon. I will.”

Maxwell slid the ring onto Jacob's finger. Without hesitation he took the knuckles and put them on his own left hand. He pulled Jacob close to him and kissed the man. This time he didn't stop it when Jacob's lips moved to escalate the embrace.


	9. Finale

Jacob stood on the docks waiting eagerly for the ship to pull to shore. His son and Hattie were expected to arrive at any moment from their trip to Egypt. He hadn't seen either of them since before all the business with Jack. It was very good fortune that they decided to take their trip when they did. Jacob didn't like thinking of what would have happened to them, how Jack would have used them against Jacob.

But they were safe, and now they were coming back home to London. He felt a strong squeeze of his hand and he turned to give Maxwell a grateful look.

He thought it was just a dream when the man came back into his life. Max was never too far from his thoughts over the past twenty years, so having the man appear to him just when Jacob needed it seemed too good to be true. But it was real, and better than he could have imagined.

Jacob turned his attention back to the water. He spotted the ship in the distance and clung onto Max's hand tighter. He was eager to see his son again, but also nervous. So much had changed, so much he had to tell Emmett. It felt like the ship was taking ages to drift toward the dock and settle.

Finally the passengers began to descend. Other families were greeting their loved ones, hugs and kisses and hands clasped. Jacob's eyes found his son at once. A jolt of surprise hit him when he registered how much the young man had changed. It looked like his skin had enjoyed the African sun and his hair had grown out. He was helping his mother with his luggage but his eyes were also searching the crowd.

Emmett's eyes settled on his father and his face lit up. “Father!” he called in delight. He was quicker to get through the crowd, his mother following with an endearing smile on her lips. Hattie caught Jacob's eyes and pulled a face. _That's your son,_ she seemed to be saying.

Emmett Frye did bear a strong resemblance to his father, but his mother was there too in the shape of his face and the texture of his hair. Even his aunt Evie made an appearance in his face with the burst of freckles. He wore the shilling pendant that once belonged to his father. Jacob knew that Max noticed it when the man made a noise of understanding.

“Welcome home, Emmett,” Jacob greeted, pulling his son into an embrace. “God, you've grown so much. You're nearly at my height already.”

“He has ambitions to outgrow you, Jacob,” Hattie remarked with a smile. She leaned in and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Her attention shifted to Max. “Hello. I don't believe we've met.”

“Maxwell Roth,” he introduced, holding out his hand. Hattie's eyes went wide; clearly she recognized the name. It took her a moment to recover. Then she was smiling and taking his hand.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Roth. My name is Harriet, but people call me Hattie.”

“Roth,” Emmett repeated thoughtfully. “Weren't you that madman who burnt down a theater?” Maxwell let out a cackle.

“Well, my dear,” he remarked to Jacob, “this is most definitely your son. And yes, young man, I did do that. It was the stuff of legends.” He paused, as if to relive the moment. “But I've had plenty of adventure since then.”

Jacob sensed this was his lead-in, so he cleared his throat. “Right. So... there's something I need to tell you both. You see, Max is here because...” He could feel his heart start to race. He lifted his hand, meaning it to look casual, but still catching the light off his silver ring. “Because we're married. Or as much as we can be.”

There was a heavy silence following the declaration. He could see Hattie putting the pieces together first. She moved to wrap her arms around him in a hug.

“Now I see why you look so happy,” she whispered in his ear. “I'm glad for you.” She released him and turned to give Max a hug next. The older man looked surprised, but welcomed the hug after giving Jacob a smile.

Emmett still looked like he was working it out. His eyes drifted from Max to Jacob and back again. He registered the ring on his father's finger and the copper knuckles on Max's hand.

“Well,” Emmett spoke up at last, “I suppose that makes me your stepson, then, doesn't it?” He grinned and gave Max a hug. Jacob reached out to squeeze his husband's hand.

Of course he hoped the announcement would go that well, but even so, he was relieved. Once all the hugging was done, the four of them set off together back to Jacob and Max's home in the theater. There was still a lot to tell, both good and bad. For now Jacob was just going to enjoy this moment.

All that happened during the Autumn of Terror was now firmly behind him. Nothing more than a nightmare that could no longer touch him.

**~end**


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